António's morning routine is unchanged from 2026. Coffee, news, logistics. The presidency of Marques Mendes has been many things; disruptive isn't one of them. This was, António admits, probably the point.
The news cycle is familiar: Chega making noise, AD governing cautiously, PS rebuilding, the president presiding. Four years of this rhythm. António has stopped paying close attention. The political drama that seemed so important in 2026 has faded into background—either because the danger passed or because he's become numb. He's not sure which.
Work at the consultancy proceeds. German clients still send contracts; Portuguese bureaucracy still frustrates; his team still delivers. The economy hasn't transformed—no dramatic growth, no dramatic collapse. Portugal in the middle, as always. Marques Mendes' Portugal, in other words.
Lunch with colleagues brings inevitable political discussion. Rui thinks the president has been "too passive on Chega." Sandra thinks he's "navigating well given constraints." António finds himself without strong opinions. He voted for Gouveia e Melo in the first round, then Marques Mendes in the second. It wasn't enthusiasm. It was calculation. The calculation seems to have worked, mostly.
His daughter Beatriz, now in university, has become disillusioned. "What was the point?" she asks when they talk. "We stopped Ventura and got... this?" António struggles to explain that "this"—stability, normalcy, the absence of crisis—is valuable. To people her age, it looks like nothing. To people his age, it looks like survival.
The afternoon brings news of a Chega abstention that will allow AD's budget to pass. António reads the analysis: the cordon sanitaire is intact, technically; no formal coalition. But the dependency is clear. Chega shapes policy by threatening to vote against. The price of "stability" keeps rising.
After work, he picks up Tiago from basketball. The Brazilian coach is still there, still good at his job. António wonders if things would be different under a different president—more secure for immigrants, less dependent on far-right tolerance. Probably not much. Presidents don't control these things. But the direction of drift matters.
Family dinner is normal—Carla from the hospital, kids complaining about school, conversations about weekend plans. The Ferreira household, like Portugal itself, continues. Neither thriving nor declining. Just continuing.
Evening television shows Marques Mendes at a EU summit, looking dignified, saying the right things. António respects this. The president represents Portugal abroad without embarrassment, unlike some potential alternatives. This matters. It's not everything, but it matters.
Before bed, António thinks about the next election. AD might lose majority entirely; the Chega question would become unavoidable. PS might recover; the cycle would reset. Or something unexpected could happen—Portugal has surprised before.
"We're okay," he tells himself, the same words he's used for four years. It's true, mostly. But "okay" has a shelf life. Sooner or later, the question returns: okay compared to what? Okay heading where?
He doesn't have answers. He sets the alarm for tomorrow.